


Supernatural Short & Porny

by run run whithertits (whithertits)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Beads, Bottom Dean, Breathplay, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Possession, Top Castiel, Top Ezekiel, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-24
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whithertits/pseuds/run%20run%20whithertits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just what the title says.<br/>1) Castiel/Dean Erotic Asphyxiation<br/>2) Sam/Dean anal beads<br/>3) Ezekiel/Dean undisclosed identity (dub-con)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where Castiel Finds a Better Use For His Tie

Castiel kisses with his eyes open. Dean doesn't like to admit to what they're doing, and keeps his eyes closed.

That's why they end up like this.

"Dean," Castiel says, and pushes forward into the heat of Dean's body. Dean grunts, but is otherwise quiet, ducking his head down. Castiel doesn't need to see his face to know he is biting his lip.

Castiel starts to thrust, angling his hips to provide Dean the highest possible level of pleasure. Dean will not allow himself to be touched, at a time like this. His shame, guilt and self loathing for daring to take even this small level of relief are too great to accept a gentle hand, and Castiel doesn't know how to be rough with something so breakable.

Dean has, on occasion, shouted some suggestions at him. Those shouting matches are why Castiel has left his clothes on, only undoing his pants before slicking Dean open and making a place for himself inside.

Castiel knows Dean Winchester from the inside out. He built Dean's body from nothing, and left his own mark on Dean's skin as a reminder to them both of his effort. He knows what Dean wants, and even more importantly, what Dean need s.

Castiel doesn't know how to be rough with Dean, but he is learning, because roughness is the only sort of comfort Dean will accept.

A hitching breath goes through Dean, the first sound he has made since Castiel appeared to him. Castiel loosens his tie, letting the cheap material slide through his fingers. Dean lets out a long, low moan when Castiel slips the length around his throat, his entire body shaking. His channel, wrapped around Castiel's length, ripples, the sphincter spasming around him.

Castiel is careful as he knots the tie around Dean's neck. He is careful, making sure the knot is clean, that it will only tighten when he wants, will release with the right touch. He does not stop thrusting into Dean as he works, and Dean has started to thrust back into the motion, leaning down into the faint pressure of the tie against his throat.

Castiel leans down over the length of Dean's back, pressing his forehead into the damp skin at the back of Dean's neck. He can taste the salt of Dean's sweat, the skin of him, and beneath that, the faintest hint of despair leaking from his soul.

Castiel raises up, and tightens his hand around the long length of the tie. He pulls, gently, until the knot is snug against the side of Dean's throat. He rests his hand against the hollow of Dean's spine, steadying, and pulls.

Dean's breath falters, the sound of air through the constricted passageway of his throat loud compared to the wet, slick sounds of their flesh coming together. Dean keens, and pulls forward, deliberately trying to tighten the knot.

"Don't fight, Dean," Castiel says, brushing his fingers around the edge of his mark on Dean's flesh. Dean cries out, and almost falls forward. Castiel adjusts his grip on Dean's shoulder, shuddering at the sudden connection, the pleasure/pain/desolation leaking through. He wonders what Dean feels from him, in these moments. The punched out, exhausted puffs of breath Dean struggles to make past the tie let him believe Dean finds pleasure in the joining.

"Cas," Dean rasps out, desperate, and Castiel tightens the knot further, cutting off Dean's air completely. He keeps the length taut, even as he moves his hand from Dean's scar, down to the pulsing length of Dean's cock. He ignores it, instead grips Dean's testicles tight. He rubs the tip of his thumb along the root of Dean's cock, letting his nail catch on the loose skin.

"Come, Dean," he whispers into the dark, and Dean does. No sound escapes past the tie at his throat, but his body convulses, arching away from Castiel enough that Castiel's cock slips out of him, slapping wet against his belly.

Dean collapses, eyes closed , and Castiel is careful to loosen the knots at his throat and make sure Dean is still breathing.

With the withdrawal of the tie, Dean curls in on himself.

Dean does not cry. He will not allow himself that luxury.

Castiel aches with the pain he cannot relieve.


	2. The One With the Anal Beads

The first bead was small and went in easy. Dean's hole sucked it up tight, winking at the intrusion. The second was larger but still slid in easy-- no wider than Sam's index finger, blue silicone a bright contrast against Dean's pink hole.

The third and fourth beads had Dean breathing heavy and clenching his hands on the bathroom counter. His face, in the mirror, was flushed, lashes swept dark against his cheekbones.

The fifth bead was where they started getting big-- each over an inch in diameter, with the ninth, last ball just over two inches all across. Number six took a bit of pressure and Dean let out a long, low moan when it popped past the rim of his asshole. Number seven didn't want to go in-- Dean's channel was stuffed full already, almost out of room. Sam was just going to have to make some more for himself.

Sam pressed the bead into Dean's body, keeping the pressure up until the tight ring of Dean's hole made it past the midway point and closed around the sphere. The other beads had been sucked up inside of Dean at this point, invisible but for the silicone thread linking them all. Number seven was drawn in, but didn't disappear-- Dean's hole tried to close around it and failed, leaving a small curve of blue visible within his ass. If the ball had been any smaller, it would have popped back out again.

Dean's hole spread wider around his fingers when he pushed the ball further in until Dean's sphincter was clenched on his fingers, the ball pressed past the tight ring of muscle and nestled inside with the others, tight and snug.

The eighth bead, forced flush against Dean's entrance by the seventh's passage, was wide-- wider than Sam's cock and that was saying something. Sam reapplied a bit of lube to the ring of Dean's ass; it was relaxed to the touch, either stretched by Sam's attentions or exhausted after being forced to open repeatedly.

Sam smiled and started to push the wide ball inside. "We're almost at the last one, Dean." Sam kissed Dean's knee, conveniently close. "Touch yourself-- it'll make this easier."

Dean's eyes were locked on Sam, on what Sam was doing between his legs. He brought his right hand up, shaky, and took hold of his cock, jerking it with rough, fast motions. He slowed at a sharp look from Sam, reluctant.

"Can't have you coming too soon," Sam said, more to himself than to Dean. He kept the pressure strong on the bead and frowned when Dean's ass opened but wouldn't take the ball, no matter how he twisted it. He let up on the pressure and started thrusting the bead in, rocking it in to ease Dean's body into opening up further.

The bead sank in, almost to the half-way point, and out again-- Dean's rim spread open , then shrank again every time the bead withdrew, obscene little squelching sounds accompanying the motion. When he added an extra bit of force, the ball sank in-- and out again when Dean's body clamped down, cock spurting all over his hand.

Sam drew back. "That was unexpected," he said, raising his eyes at Dean.

Dean panted above him, looking rumpled, freshly fucked. "Yeah," he breathed out. His ass winked open and closed, the last shudders of orgasm rocking his body.

"I didn't give you permission to come," he pointed out. Sam took hold of the ring at the end of the beads and tugged. He enjoyed the sight of Dean's ass bulging out, the rim too tight to give up what it had taken in at the light pressure.

"'Didn't mean to come, Sammy," Dean muttered and gasped at the pressure on his over-stimulated prostate.

"That's no excuse, Dean-- you should have told me you were close." With a strong, firm pull, Sam pulled the remaining beads out of Dean's body. He offered them to Dean to clean, pleased when Dean sucked the first of the beads into his mouth.

"We'll have to start again," Sam said, eyes intent on Dean-- on his brother licking up the taste of his own ass. "And you won't be allowed to touch your cock until I can trust you to be honest with me."

A stream of Sam's come oozed out from Dean's ass, from where Sam had stretched him out before.

It was going to be a long day.


	3. A heart that devises wicked plots (Ezekiel/Dean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezekiel cannot match his syntax to imitate Sam under these conditions, but to Dean, actions have always spoken louder than words. It plays to Ezekiel's advantage.

Sam recovers his strength at a rapid pace with Ezekiel's Grace fueling him, but his stamina flags in the aftermath of physical exertion. 

Sam's quadriceps quiver as he pushes deep into Dean, his thrusts turning erratic as his body steels itself to ejaculate. Ezekiel doesn't stop the process, but coils himself deep as Sam nears his peak. When Sam comes, his body lights up and for a brief moment, and his mind shuts down. As Sam's eyelids flutter, Ezekiel springs. 

In the physical realm, Dean is twisting underneath Sam, close to his own completion. Any physical signs of Ezekiel's takeover goes unnoticed by the Righteous Man, too busy twisting his face into the pillow, as though he can escape the pleasure Sam (Ezekiel) has wrung from his body. 

It takes barely a thought to keep Sam at full erection, and Ezekiel evens the pace of his thrusts.

"Fuck, Sam, you still going?" Dean asks, opening his wet eyes, and a rush of fondness rushes through Ezekiel as Dean reaches one hand up to curl into the wet hair at Sam's nape. 

"You are beautiful," Ezekiel says by way of explanation. He forces himself to silence after that; with his human body sending such vibrant messages of pleasure to Sam's brain, he cannot match the younger Winchester's syntax and does not want to be discovered. 

Ezekiel smiles, and shifts Dean's legs to straddle Sam's waist, Sam's cock sliding a half inch deeper and now angled to press directly into Dean's prostate. Dean grunts and twists again, as though he wants to escape. Ezekiel knows better. Sam's body knows better. Fully sheathed, Dean's prostate rests just above the flesh below the crown of Sam's cock. Ezekiel circles Sam's hips, pulling out only a fraction, just enough motion that the tip of Sam's cock massages deliberately over Dean's prostate, milking him with inhuman ease. 

"_Shit_," Dean whispers, and his legs tighten around Sam's body, drawing them closer. 

Dean Winchester's soul shines brightly when he lays with Sam, the connection with his brother drawing it out from the depth it usually hides in so that it shines beneath his skin, brilliant to anyone who knows to look. With the constant pressure on Dean's prostate, fluid, slightly alkaline, drips from his urethra to pool onto his lower abdomen. Ezekiel wishes he could taste it, but he's already risking too much as it is: the results of Sam's orgasm have begun to leak out around his cock, and if Dean were not so distracted he would be able to smell Ezekiel's deception in the air.

With Sam's seminal fluid filling his channel, Dean's body is a dripping, tantalizing mess. The bed will be a wreck of human expulsions by the time Ezekiel allows Sam to wake.

Dean's soul has begun to pulse, the pressure on his internal sexual organs bringing him closer to orgasm, and Ezekiel cannot resist the temptation to lean down and press Sam's lips to the soft, slightly chapped mouth of the other hunter. Failure to resist temptation has defined Dean's interactions with the Host; from Castiel to Anael and rumour has it even Michael himself had twisted themselves into shadows of their former selves for the sake of his brilliant, damaged soul. 

Ezekiel claims no superiority over his brothers and sisters on; from the moment Dean's prayer reached his ears, he's been in his sway. It's all he can do to allow Sam the agency Dean demands his brother retain, rather than mask his presence at all times to bask in the shine of Dean's soul. 

If it weren't Sam alone who could bring Dean so brightly to the surface, he may not have bothered. 

Their breath mixes, and Dean's breath catches on each inhalation as his pleasure nears its peak. He shifts within Ezekiel's embrace to wrap a hand around his cock, and jerks himself with fast, harsh motions. It takes only a few pulls for him to reach orgasm, and Ezekiel relishes the moment when Dean's soul reaches out, trying to connect with Sam's own. Soul mates, Ezekiel remembers. Dean will be unsatisfied by this encounter and unable to understand why, his soul troubled by the lack of contact with Sam's.

Ezekiel retreats quickly, and Sam regains himself to the sensation of his body collapsing onto Dean's, sticky with sweat at come from their orgasms. His cock, softening now, slips out of Dean with a wet slurp, most of his ejaculate painting Dean's ass and thighs already.

Dean shifts beneath Sam and straightens one leg to poke Sam in the calf. "You okay there, big foot?" 

Sam blinks, takes note of the residue of Dean's orgasm painting their stomachs. "Yeah," he says, shaking off the brief disappointment ~~(disorientation)~~ of missing Dean's orgasm.

Ezekiel watches from under Sam's skin as the brothers Winchester curl around each other, Dean overly physical as he holds his brother tight, a subconscious attempt to reclaim the contact his soul had missed during his peak. 

He wonders: if Dean could see, would he be able to tell the difference between the light of Sam's soul and the shine of Ezekiel's grace?


End file.
